


The Morrigan Way

by PurpleMoon3



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Blame Myrddin, Gen, Harry is not having a good day, Maaaaaagic, Magical Fuckery, Shard Fuckery, cloning, craaaaaack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Dresden is certain he has the weirdest afterlife possible.  Being turned into a four year old with crystal, wing-like growths was just the tip of the iceberg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morrigan Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemi_Thine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemi_Thine/gifts).



_Water is wet._  
  
Harry's thoughts felt sluggish in his warm cocoon; points of focus separated from one another by stretched taffy.  In one he was drifting downward, watching as rust flaked into the fluid ether.  In another his breath was violently pulled from his chest by a vortex of force while his staff fell from useless fingers.  Yet again he soared high above, untouchable, a thousand upon thousand points of light glimmering with possibility.  Worlds hung like pearls on a string before him.  Embers sparkling with potential until the die was cast and they shifted once more with new decisions to be made, new lives born, their number multiplying and dividing faster than he would blink.  
  
_Stars and stones._  
  
He ran across all the iterations of himself, a stone skipping over a pond, and it was as though he'd locked eyes with his own reflection.  Spilling, falling, fearing.  **Fire.**  
  
His life, flashing.  A hundred and one ways to die.  
  
_Did I?_  
  
He opened his Eyes.  
  
Harry _screamed._

* * *

One of the many things they never prepare you for in High School, in between how to navigate a DMV and ducking flaming fecal matter, is how to retain composure after waking up to a scene straight out of Hellraiser.  I am not ashamed to admit I screamed like a little girl, or I would have if my lungs and mouth weren't filled with some warm, viscous liquid I did not want to think about.  It bubbled from my lips as my mind screamed instead. All my disgust and horror at the tableau before me was shaped into a mental slap I projected to the world.    
  
The action was more reflex than intent, but still knees buckled.  The echo of my Will left a trace in the air that reverberated back to me, and the ghost of nails on a chalkboard scratched teasingly at my skull as I scrambled for distance from the man-thing towering over me.  He wore a stained lab coat and an expression of both fear, awe, and an overwhelming scent of… something that made me think of warm hay and my father's old suitcase.  The scent was almost enough for me to ignore the green, worm like roots that wound in and out of his skull.    
  
Blood smeared his cheek, and his sweat left a salty tinge in the air.  
  
Or maybe that was the fluid?  I was still spitting up.      
  
"It's viable?  Blasto, you've been naught-y!"  A falsetto voice pipped.  A little girl with a face that wouldn't have looked out of place in a Carpenter family photo peeked over the obviously mad scientist's shoulder, peering at me with curious twist of her lips.  She would have been adorable if her lower body didn't consist of some Borg Queen knock off.  Her legs and much of her lower torso were gone in exchange for a giant centipede that was driving steel legs into -around?- the Blasto's spine.  Her pale skin glowed under the artificial lighting, and traceries of blood and ink flashed around her arms, her face, before dissolving.  I didn't know what the words said, though some of it might have been equations.  She had her own brain bug, but it was fatter and more grotesque, like a tick that had gorged far too much and would burst any moment, and the tendrils reached down into her eyes, her ears, shifting in the non-existent wind and caressing their mutual prisoner contemplatively.     
  
Blasto gurgled as his body lurched toward me.  I blinked my eyes and with an effort shut down the strangely reflexive trickle of power that was my Sight.  Colors seemed to dim, and now that I wasn't laser-focused on the still horrific but not paralyzing duo before me I noticed the battle going on across the room.    
  
Replicators?  Robocop?    
  
…was this my afterlife?  The thought was rather disappointing, and I grit my teeth as I huddled under a table.  I didn't even merit actual Robocop, but a weird green and gold knockoff.  I was naked, apparently a deformed toddler, with no foci and surrounded by unknown enemies; so, typical Dresden luck.  My movements were clumsy, and awkward, and each motion was accompanied by the pins-and-needles sensation as though my entire body had been numb and was only now waking up.  My shoulders shook as I soundlessly laughed.  Everything that wasn't broken or burning was so damn shiny.  I clamped down on the sudden and uncharacteristic urge to open my inner-eye again.  That way lay headaches.  
  
"Morrigan."  Blasto hissed out, almost a plea, and I was again struck by a feeling of _home_ and _safety_ as that scent drifted over to me.  In hindsight, I would come to realize that such a thing was a little suspicious but for now the obvious and immediate threat was the Borg Princess and her too-wide grin.   
  
I had absolutely no clue who the man was, but I couldn't in good conscience let some _infant terrible_ make him her first drone.  As it happens, even without my staff there was one thing I was really, really good at.  
  
I thrust out my arm, crystalline structures obnoxious and mocking, and put all my Will into thoughts of Breaking.  " _Hexus_."  
  
The shock wave of force that lanced out from me was unexpected, but the results were far from unsatisfying.

* * *

Colin grimaced as Dragon was forced to open his armor like a can of tuna.  Everything was down, non-responsive, as if the worlds largest combination  sonic-EMP blast had gone off.  Even the replacement organs Dragon had flash-cloned and designed had started to fail, and he had only been in the periphery of the attack.    
  
"It was not a total loss, Colin."  Dragon soothed.  She was right, and the mangled body of William Manton lay cooling beside what little was left of the blonde bio-tinker.  If he had been an afterthought of technical failure, Bonesaw had been the target.  Her body had been modified so much she couldn't survive when the mechanics failed.  Without the Siberian to provide a quick escape and invulnerability, and Bonesaw the healing and sheer force multiplier that had been her 'art' Jack Slash's threat rating was almost negligible.  So long as they could harry him to the point he'd be unable to stop and fill the Slaughterhouse roster again, the Nine would be destroyed.  Finally.  
  
Colin looked around the destroyed lab, hobbling with his pole-arm for balance as one arm and one leg had become so much dead weight.  It had been a surprisingly sophisticated lab, but Dragon had confirmed that the property had been a domain of Accord, and the villain wasn't known for Half Measures.  Though Colin had thought the two supervillains hated each other… his thoughts trailed off as he stopped at a smoking computer terminal.  There was an aborted print out dangling from a machine, a sort of log register that no doubt had been automatic and designed to let Accord keep an eye on Blasto's activities with minimal face-to-face interaction.  
  
While fighting Bonesaw's creations, Colin hadn't been able to keep an eye on what the two bio-tinkers had been doing.  He had been peripherally aware of Bonesaw using her enhancements to latch onto Blasto -how she had not gone into shock from bloodless after he bisected her was a mystery he looked forward to solving- but hadn't been able to prioritize them until the scream.  The tinker ripped the printout from the machine and turned to the Dragon-suit, a sharp pain in his side signaling the rapidly approaching need for a fresh organ transplant before he himself went into shock.  
  
"A Pet Endbringer, Dragon.  He has a pet _Endbringer._ "  Colin ran a gloved hand through the stubble of his hair, leaning against Dragon's suit as he struggled up the stairs to the waiting transport and attendant medical bay.  He very clearly remembered hitting the emergency release on his helmet before watching as a painfully familiar dimensional rip close.  Blasto had been carrying his newest and most dangerous creation through it.  "And it thinks it is a Wizard."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This snippet was intended as a Christmas Present for Nemi_Thine. May or may not continue. Depends on how hard Nemi pokes me about it. And how much time I have.


End file.
